#AND IN THE LAST MOMENT HE REALIZES THERE IS NO SALVATION. NO HOPE. HE'S DAMNED. HE CANT SCAPE THE ETERNAL CONFLICT. ITS IN HIS NATURE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nightmaretist · 1 year

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TIMING: Current PARTIES: Lukas @lukas-dark-miracles & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: A churchyard. SUMMARY: Two immortals sit in a churchyard and look at a church they're not entering for their own reason. A discussion on God and morality follows. CONTENT WARNINGS: Religion-heavy (christianity/catholicism), mentions of parental, sibling and child death

Attending church had become a rarity for Inge, who struggled to connect with the religion that had once ruled her life. It was too confrontational, did not fit the easygoing way she preferred to go to life — dealing in terror, sure, but supposedly not affected by it. Church was a place of guilt and shame, a place of reflection and remembrance, and those weren’t things she looked for most of the time. And yet, every now and then, she felt herself pulled to such places.

That was not to say she was going into the church today. Just the churchyard, moving past the graves of people long gone and filing away some of the imagery for later. It was a rare moment of feeling somewhat grounded, in touch with the person she was before she’d died and become what she had been meant to be. A god-fearing creature. She still believed that he existed, but no longer did Ingeborg think he had any say on where she would end up post-death. If anything, she was more demon than a person made in his image.

Oh, what did it matter, what she was? Those were the kinds of questions she’d asked in the first years, when she had still been grappling with her nature, and ones she’d asked after her daughter had died and the world seemed wholly unfair. But now, it mattered not: the sun shone! A bird whistled cheerfully. She saw a stranger on a bench and decided, why not approach — better to chat up a random stranger than to keep mulling over her own existence and that of some higher power. The bench was sat nicely in the shade, which Inge did prefer. “Afternoon,” she said, sitting herself down and staring up at the church. It was a nice building. Catholic, which meant it actually had some charm unlike the reformed churches she’d gone to as a mortal. “Hope it’s alright I’m sitting down.” If it wasn’t, she’d stay. Her gaze remained on the building, one of its high towers. For a moment, she was quiet: “What brings you here?”

Lukas wasn’t sure why he kept doing this, sitting outside in the courtyard of the Church he once ran. Perhaps part of him did it instinctually, he had on many occasions sat out here after all. It was a perfect place to contemplate everything, the good and the bad. Maybe it also reminded him of those twilights with his Sire, where she wasn’t so scary. The gardens of a church had been a place of peace - the last time he had peace. So he sat there quietly thinking, his hands clutching each other in a pretend version of a prayer, his head bowed for prayers he no longer thought God could hear.

Maybe this just proved he actually wanted to pray and turn to the light, but he was already a monster. He was chosen for this after all. Salvation for Lukas could only be through the darkness, so he should stop trying to hear the choirs from inside the church. He should stop trying to hold a rosary closely. He should move from his spot, even if just being near the old church gave him comfort. He didn’t need it anymore, and more importantly he didn’t deserve it. Surely though he could stay in the garden outside. After all, Eden was the place where good and evil were hand and hand until it tipped. Surely the snake had the same amount of rights to wander the place as did the rest of creations.

Even if he was damned, and could only be saved through the darkness, Lukas could still have a place in the garden of good and evil.

Still, as his spiral started yet again Lukas heard a woman’s voice and for a moment his eyes grew wide thinking it was his Angel - just to realize it wasn’t. Relaxing, he moved to sit up properly and said, “No problem at all. Go ahead." Afterall, he didn’t own the seat, and he was ready to not think about the gnawing questions just at the surface of his damned existence. He didn’t like thinking of the roles he - well wasn’t sure he wanted to play. At the question though he sat for a moment thinking and said, “It’s a good place to contemplate I suppose. What brings you?”

If Inge believed in God – and that was an if, these days – then she wanted Him to exist in the simplest and most mundane of things. He was the flowers waving in the sun, the light through the trees, the sweet food on the table and also all the rest the world had to offer. The cold of night, the thunderstorm crashing down on the earth’s surface, the feeling of terror like a cold fist around a heart. If she believed in Him, He was something cyclical that she was part of.

Of course, that didn’t negate all she was taught and had once believed. It was ever-present, like a nagging thought in the back of her head. A song that had been stuck there since the moment she gained consciousness. But she sinned so much these days that she couldn’t let it rule her days any more. There was no afterlife waiting for her, anyway. Or so she told herself, convincingly and endlessly. Life was the earth’s pleasures and sorrows for her, and God was in them — and that was the end of that.

But here she was, in front of a church that would disagree with her. Inge lacked self-awareness to see it as anything else than a whimsical decision. “I appreciate it all the same.” The silence was comfortable, but she wouldn’t mind filling it. Conversation was a favorite of hers, after all: there was so much silence in her life, as it stood. “It is, isn’t it? I find churches and their grounds often are. And I don’t know, exactly, I suppose it is contemplation I’m after. I guess I used to find it inside, but it’s been a while. What about you?”

Often now, as he sat in the shade of the trees outside of the Church he wondered exactly how it felt like to be removed from the narrative of Goodness. How he would word it. Lukas always thought of Cain, the first murder, who asked if he was his brother’s keeper. Who had been rejected. He didn’t realize how cruel it had been, that he had been Marked and told to live forever after walking the world east of Eden. Perhaps Cain still sat outside of holy places as well, waiting for an invitation to go back to God. Idly he wondered if he ever would.

He wondered idly how many people were like him, sitting right outside of the light, rejected from being welcomed in through no fault of their own. After all, he was tossed aside like he hadn’t mattered. Normally Lukas pushed those thoughts away, convinced he still had a purpose, but surely that meant his purpose was to embrace the dark. If that was the case, sitting in the church courtyard was merely a way of reminding himself that he was not welcomed. He was marked, and he would remain here in this weird in between light and darkness. Neither protected, nor fully rejected the courtyard could provide a sort of Limbo the rest of the world couldn’t.

“I don’t feel particularly welcomed inside if I am completely honest,” Lukas said with a small nod towards the other, an uncharacteristically solemn look to his face. “So I would rather contemplate outside of the hallowed halls where I do feel welcome to sit and simply be. Although I do believe the inside is beautiful.” It was, at least to Lukas. “Do you come here often then? I don’t think I have seen you before.”

That was honest. Inge looked at the other, at the solemn look on his face and the truth he offered. People of faith so often claimed to be honest, didn’t they? To lie was to sin and yet, lie they all did. She herself included — but if immortality anything, it was to be above sin. So what did it matter if she lied? Maybe that was why it was somewhat unsettling and strange, that this person she didn’t know spoke with a rawness. Refreshing, even.

And maybe she agreed. Not feeling welcome wasn’t something that usually held Ingeborg back, considering all the breaking and entering she did on a regular base. There was something different about it though, wasn’t there? Maybe there was still that young woman inside her, who turned to her priest in a time of need and expected to be answers. Who thought that maybe a demon was ruining her nights, making it impossible for her to rest without terror. She knew better now, of course: mares were not demons, even if some religious zealots might think so. And for as far as she knew, there was no space for God in the astral, either.

“Neither do I. It’s been too long.” She let out a breath of air, “And I was never catholic, anyway.” That had mattered so much, back at home. The Dutch world split in catholic and protestant, society built on those differences. Inge now thought they mattered little. “There’s something holy about the gardens too though, hm? And no, not often. I have been inside, though, once, maybe twice.” Mostly to see the art. “It’s beautiful. Do you come here much?” She stared at the towers again. “What is it you’re contemplating?”

Lukas almost hummed in agreement on the idea of it being too long. After all, it always seemed that he had just entered the church days ago. If he just calmed his mind he could hear the choir and see the lights streaming through the stained glass windows creating beautiful and awe inspiring lights across the altar, illuminating the scene as he held up the eucharist.

Still, he knew that it had changed, and it was indeed too long. He knew that even the words had changed, he no longer knew them. He knew that if he tried to touch that sanctified chalice up to God that it would burn him. His hands already bore that fact time and time again. Things that he had loved were already long gone, and while he hadn’t wanted to accept that, the years blurred in a way so he did.

At the woman’s words, Lukas chuckled and said, “The gardens are open to everyone I would think.” He did think that, or else he wouldn’t be here on the borderlands between what was holy and what was damned. If he could be here, there was no reason that she couldn’t, no matter what God or path she followed. Perhaps at the end of times maybe one of the loudest people would have been proven right, but Lukas thought there was such a big time before that.

“The gardens are lovely this time of year, they’ve always been my favorite,” Lukas said with a light nod. They seemed to hold life better than most places and while the Church inside was beautiful and peaceful, there was something about the peace in nature out here. “I try to come out here a couple of times a month.” It wasn’t truly a lie, but more so stated in the opposite. He only allowed himself the calmness of this place twice a month. He couldn’t get used to a comfort blanket that wasn’t his after all. “Do you come by often?”

At the last question Lukas thought for a moment and said lightly, “I suppose what I think about good and evil and an individual’s position to even begin to answer those question. In front of a church it can be hard not to think about that, although I think that’s probably too big of a problem for me.” He had a sheepish smile on his face as he continued, “Did you have any thoughts on the subject?”

A hum of thought exited her throat at those words, “These gardens are, at the very least.” Those behind the pearly gates of heaven were a little harder to access, weren’t they? Ah, what did it matter — it was hardly a subject to get upset about, in Inge’s case, though she found herself wondering sometimes. Whether it was all real, of course, and if so who had been admitted there.

Where had Vera gone, upon death? Was she up there, looking down? Were her own parents there, too? She wondered if her two still surviving siblings prayed for her. Inge hadn’t prayed for them in quite some time and wondered if perhaps she should, despite the fact that she hadn’t seen them in so long. Hard to do, with her appearance not having changed a bit in forty years. Hard to do, when they all reminded her so much of that horridly bleak and restrictive existence.

She remembered, with striking clarity, going into the church back in those human days and asking the pastor for guidance. It had been when the nightmares had been at their worst, her mind fraying at the edges because of a constant state of terror. Is He punishing me?, she had asked, as he rubbed his hands and considered her question. There had been so little comfort in his answer, as he’d told her to keep faith.

Inge was glad she’d left the church, even if she hadn’t completely abandoned God. There was no priest or pastor that could speak to her existence any more. “They are very beautiful. A good place for contemplation. A good use of space, too.” She wondered how many vampires roamed this place at night. How the gravestones would look covered in the blood of their victims.

He expressed questions of good and evil. Inge shifted in her seat so she could look at him better. “No, it’s understandable. It’s a large question.” Not one that bothered her much in her personal life, as she didn’t let herself be held back by human debates of morality. But even she had her little moral codes. “I think, these days, I’ve started to see God as someone who’s capable of ambiguity, right? Good and evil.” These were words that would have plenty of her family pale. “And if we are made in His image, then so are we — good and evil. I suppose it is personal, at the end of the day, what you lean towards more. But it’s also natural, that both occur within and because of you.”

“It’s easy to think, here at least,” Lukas replied about the gardens, thinking thoughtfully about how even in the summer they looked beautiful. Even in the evening, when most people found the Church ominous and there was a sense of forboden, there was something beautiful there. He had heard once, something about the sublime being even more compelling than the beautiful. Maybe that was one of the reasons the Church had always enraptured his soul. It was awe inspiring and compelling - to the point of ego destroying in itself.

At her shift Lukas looked at the other, for a moment, thinking back to another woman who’d sat not unlike her talking about similar topics. It should have made him nervous, but instead he felt a kind of nostalgia he’d missed over the past decades. While his Angel always prodded and asked questions and gave answers, there was always a glint in her eyes that suggested she didn’t particularly care about her answers or his. She was always playing the devil’s advocate to his sincerity, and for some reason he didn’t think this stranger was.

He listened carefully, and found himself agreeing with her. After all, had he not come up with a similar conclusion. Still, it was probably why he was sat out here instead of inside of the Church now, a heretic of the highest degree. “I find myself thinking similarly,” Lukas said softly, “After all, what is one without the other? If good or evil were to win over the other would it stop mattering? Theoretically of course, I don’t think in the here and now such ideas matter for day to day living.”

Well, for most people he supposed they didn’t matter - but for the former Father they did deeply hurt. He fixated on the idea of good and evil - how a balance of them could be achieved. It was hubristic for him to think about this. It shouldn’t have been up to him to decide any of this, but without anyone seemingly looking down what else could he realistically choose? He was denied the ability to be good - that much was clear with what had happened to him. He wasn’t even Job, who could continue to weather the storm even if it seemed as if no God was hearing him. After all, he couldn’t even hold a rosary anymore, much less properly be resolved of sins.

He had so many sins on his soul now. It had been 7365 days since Lukas’s last confession after all, and he couldn’t be absolved of any of them.

Looking back to his companion Lukas continued, “Do you think then that it is up to us then? To decide how much good or evil we contain? Or do you think it is out of our own control?”

That much was true. The gardens were a good place to think. Inge wondered what it said about her, that she had come here — she wasn’t a person prone to contemplation or reflection, after all. She did it in her art, revisiting memories that had scathed her as a person, but she did not tend to sit down to think. And yet she’d come here, to this churchyard, and joined in on conversation the way she might have when she’d still been Ingeborg Beenhakker, that poor mortal woman. “It is indeed.” Nothing more was said on the matter.

She chalked it up to the gardens, that she was contemplative now. Speaking of morality, using God as a vessel through which to explain and grasp it. She was a woman of little moral qualms now, time and experience having hardened and desensitized her to a point where little held her back. But there were areas where she tried to be good, weren’t they? She cared for the earth and its climate, held social-economic ideas that were idealistic (even if her own greed sometimes went against them) and fought to remain progressive, even as she grew older.

And the things she did to others — that was, perhaps, objectively evil. But maybe all consumption was, especially these days. Mortals got their hands on unethically produced foods but would balk at the sight of a vampire drinking blood or a mare creating nightmares. To eat was to claim something for oneself, an inherent selfish act of care for your own body. To call it evil was redundant, useless. (Her methods, then, those were … questionable, morally speaking, but Inge was far beyond the idea of changing that. It improved her art. It improved some other mortals’ art. And she never took it too far where her sleepers died.)

“No, I agree. They’re hypotheticals, thinking in black and white — which is at the end of the day, where we as people will always lose. If we humans exist in shades of gray, then so does God.” Inge stretched out her legs, placed her hands on the bench next to her thighs. “Which makes me feel conflicted about heaven and hell. It’s so binary, isn’t it? Purgatory exists, but still, I don’t think that brings the nuance the church sometimes lacks.”

His question was interesting. Inge thought on it for a second, before shrugging. “Both. There are things outside of our control – the way this world functions, for example, or the things our natures demand of us.” This part was more true for herself and other undead, of course: humans hardly had instincts to harm others (and yet committed that harm all the same). “And yet there is always some semblance of choice. Again, there’s … no black or white answer here, hm?”

Lukas listened to his companion closely, not wanting to think too much about how his hands looked bloody. He didn’t want to think about how many sins now weighed his immortal soul down. So instead he focused on Inge - something that kept the panic from bubbling up in him.

She had a similar viewpoint to him, although Lukas didn’t think he was gray at all. He was stained, dragged down to something not quite demon but not at all human. Surely, humans were made to be this gray - easily tilted into either good or evil - but something like him? He must be dark. After all, sun burned his skin and he couldn’t even try to hold holy items. “I agree,” He said softly looking at the steeple thinking about how unfair it all was.

He continued contemplating deeply, hardly paying attention to his words . “I also can’t help but think there are things in the world - maybe people who are that white and black you know? Maybe most are gray and those examples are there to show the edges. Maybe heaven to some in that case is hell to another. We are all just searching for something then, and maybe everything is just purgatory. ” He paused, and if he could have he might have blushed as he realized that he was thinking particularly raw emotional ideas out loud. “Apologies, I doubt I’m making much sense.”

Still as she continued Lukas couldn’t help but focus on the ideas - something that was at the heart of his obsessions at times. “I can agree to that. It is possibly too much to ask to go against our own natures, but at the same time too permissive to suggest that we have no responsibilities.” He thought of that verbiage, wondering if he should write that down later. “It is gray too I suppose,” Lukas said with a little chuckle. “Maybe that’s why most of the old philosophers went mad, hm? Always thinking about the nature of good and evil. Still, it’s hard not to think about it.”

It was hard for Lukas not to after all. Even as a human he thought about it constantly, and now that his ‘role’ was reversed it became even more important to him. If he was casted as a villain now, he should act like it right? Could good really exist without evil? Was it so wrong for him to want to push people to the edge to pull them back into immortality if they weren’t going to heaven anyway? After all, he couldn’t lead people to the light anymore, but he could lead them to immortality anyway. Didn’t those people deserve a chance too?

Didn’t Lukas deserve a chance?

Glancing at Inge, Lukas gave a small real smile and said, “I appreciate your thoughts on the matter, though. Thank you for sharing them. Thinking about this outloud is much more fun than thinking about them alone.”

Things, he spoke of things, people as those things — Inge furrowed her brow at him, wondering what hid beneath his skin, behind those eyes. Was he something else, then? Not just a mere human, but something that no longer counted as a creation of God? Or maybe he was simply edgy, someone who thought differently than most mortals for no good reason besides having some weird philosophy that set some apart from others.

“You make sense.” She shook her head in disagreement, though, “But no,” she said, “I don’t think there are people – or things – out there who are the perfect extreme, one way or the other. There is no such thing as complete evilness or complete goodness. Shades of gray — some darker, some lighter, but none of them completely one way or the other. It’s like with painting … you never use the pure white or pure black.”

She had tried to get into philosophy, once, and some of it had appealed to her — but at the end of the day, Inge didn’t tend to think that deeply about life. She was a hedonist, if anything, someone who followed whim and desire and hunger, who cared little about consequence and implication. Some ideals came into play, but most of the time? The world might as well be a planet which revolved around her. (It was, admittedly, something that came with the territory of the loneliness she found herself caught in — but that wasn’t something she wished to admit, either. Her lack of reflection helped in this regard.)

“They thought too much and did too little. Perhaps if they had gone on a few more strolls or had partied some more …” She smirked. “But it’s an endless discussion, I suppose, that of free will and good and evil. No right answer.” Except, of course, her own opinion — but even that was subject to change. “At the end of the day it’s all so very nuanced that there’s no definitive way to answer it, hm?”

She liked that thought, anyway. The in-between space. To mark everything off with harsh lines was not only limiting, but dull too. Why should she call herself a villain, when there were humans more cruel than her – even if their impact wasn’t so directly measured? Why should others call themselves good when they had done plenty of mean things? People – immortal or otherwise – were not so easily defined. She would not be bound by it, anyway.

Inge nodded at the other, agreeing with his statement. “Thank you for sharing your own with me. It was refreshing, if not insightful.” She got to her feet, however, feeling too bare and open than was comfortable. High time to flee. She did dig into her bag, though, producing a business card that bore her name and the address of her studio. “I’m Inge. If you’d like to continue this conversation some day … here’s how to reach me. Enjoy the weather, won’t you?” With the business card in his possession, she turned on her heel and was off, her head significantly fuller of thought than it had been before.

#lukas.#threads.#in the garden of good and evil.#THIS WAS SO GOOD. GOD. the way this made me cement inge so hard. and i got to read so much abt lukas #these are normal well adjusted immortal beings!#ily addie

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containatrocity · 9 months

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"...Former frontman of Autumn's Gambler and the Solo project Odd Revolver, Oleander Grimm, wanted for questioning in the death of two former members of his camp...."

"....Undercover police officers investigating the disappearances of hundreds across the country in seemingly ritualistic killings found dead after seemingly being compromised..... a manhunt has begun for the presumed killer.... Grimm, once a household name with his band, is wanted and his whereabouts are unknown, his Los Angeles home set ablaze seemingly intentionally..."

"The body of a man has been found in the remains of Grimm's former home, matching descriptions of the musician- while forensics will be required to identify the remains completely.... it seems the nightmare may finally be over."

The TV crackles and fades to silence on the motel dresser, and seated at the foot of the filthy bed, a dead man smokes another cigarette. He'd been had- fucking pigs, 30 years of careful work down the drain, because his 'manager' and his bitch wife were deep-cover officers. So he'd reacted poorly- most would, when their entire livelihood was about to fall to scraps at their feet. He'd not realized that he'd kicked the last struggling, termite eaten support out from beneath his existence until he was behind the wheel of a moving van with the bay over-full with flammables, and the corpse of some poor SOB who's only crime had been drinking in the same bar. Until his entire life's work sat in hot ash- the fire greedy for her fuel, the devil starved for his due.

So he was stood now at square one- a square his feet had never been acquainted with, thanks to the Grimm family's connections in Hollywood- He'd been born with the blessings he needed to build an empire, and even when he cast those off- his family and his acting career quickly growing unbearable in his teens- colored by a cocaine addiction and a twin flame who's bad moon eclipsed his own, He still had the recognition it had given him when from the remains rose Autumn's Gamblers. He wonders, for a moment, as he stretches out in his motel bed, how much time he's bought himself with this little display- he'd liked that house, and with a case so high profile, they were bound to run the forensics on that body soon enough- his DNA was on the books from that riot he incited at the Roxy in the 90s, from a number of B & E's with the band, prints marked down from bar fight after bar fight in city after city just to try and feel something other than the absent numbness.

It hadn't worked, but then, it never worked, if he was being honest with himself, and eventually, that numbness became an asset. Eventually, that numbness made him a perfect hunter. He'd gotten sloppy, this time. He was the fox caught in the henhouse, and while he'd done his best to wipe blood from his maw, the farmer was closing in. But he'd had a failsafe in mind for quite some time, hadn't he? A disappearing ghost town in West Virginia, now a mere two states away, would be his salvation. America's own little bermuda triangle, swallowing up those who traveled inside simply to erase them from the world outside. He'd kept track of it, his interest in the Occult storied and well known- part of the reason he was in this mess to begin with, the perfect suspect for his own murders.

That tech mogul heir who'd done promotion in LA vanished in 2021 on his way to DC. The frontwoman for The Damned Woman, originally from the area, gone without a trace after going home for a visit. Actors, artists, musicians, government agents, military types, and even the average joe simply wiped off the earth. And Huntsville had been the key. So he'd packed his things before lighting his home ablaze- something he hoped the fire would cover up- something he knew it wouldn't not completely- and struck out on the road, unknowing of what might wait for him inside, it was better than giving himself up to the sheep who'd see him hang for simply doing his role in the food chain.

Some of us are put here to be greater than everyone else, Ollie, that's you and me. I made a promise to something when I was young, it told me I'd find fame and fortune, I just had to find my partner. That's you.

Words decades old echo in his mind even now, as blue eyes fall on the bedside clock, the dusty digital display flagging the exact time of night he should be asleep were he a different kind of man. Instead he sparks up his second cigarette in quick succession, takes a drag and leans his head back, watches the smoke dance past his lips.

It's up to you. It was always gonna be up to you. I've gotta answer for what we did, Ollie, but you'll keep doing our work, won't you? Too many rabbits and not enough wolves to cull them down. We're not like them, you're special, It blessed you. Now I need you to watch me, and make sure I don't chicken out or try to come down. It always knew you would be stronger, okay? Come on, don't cry. 27's as good an age as any to go- I'll live forever in the minds of people who love us and you.

His fingers graze over a hand-written 27 tattoo on his wrist, sighing softly. Part of him feels like he failed. This wasn't part of the plan, part of the deal. Their number had come up years ago. He had sacrificed himself to ensure October's side of the deal didn't hang unfulfilled. And here he was. Running away, because whatever protection, whatever luck had been on his side had abandoned him just long enough for anger to win.

It's enough to make him angry again, sends rage pricking through his body, because this was not part of the deal, everything he'd ever worked for burning away somewhere thousands of miles away while he rots in bed, thinking about long-dead lovers and sacraments in blood made when he was little more than a boy himself. This was his calling, his duty- he was meant to cull and destroy in service of something he couldn't hear the voice of on his own- that had been his job. to listen.

Morning comes. He doesn't sleep. simply pays his room fee with more money than he needs to and climbs behind the wheel of the moving van once more. He drives in silence, memories on replay even as he passes the town limits from a detour.

He tries to hide the smile on his face as the mayor and sheriff explain to him what he's driven into- tries to pass it off as a nervous grin about his uncertain future, suffocate the thrill of a built-in alibi and creatures to hunt alongside beneath false fear.

One day, we'll hunt together, free from everything the world insists on. Changed, but together. I promise, Ollie.

October's pleased to see his face on a ghost a few nights later.

Maybe he kept his promise, after all.

#o.musings #o.headcanons #tw violence mention #tw suicide mention

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whattheheckmidoriya · 3 years

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Unsteady

Pairing: Aizawa Shota x Reader

Word Count: 2,337

Warning: Mentions of blood, injury, throwing up

Genre: ANGST ANGST BABY

Description: Shota doesn't scare easily. He's level headed and rational in even the most hectic situations, but nothing has ever devastated him as much as the sight of you collapsing over puddles of crimson.

Author's Note: It's finally here! Super excited to share this one! The wait for this one was kinda long (which I apologize for), but I hope it was worth it!

Join the taglist here!

•

Shota still remembered the day he met you. You saved his life that day, at the risk of losing your own. You were just strangers back then— hell you hadn’t even recognized him as the Pro Hero he is until much later, and it took even longer than that for a friendship to bloom between the two of you.

Regardless of how long it took for your relationship to grow, Shota always remembered you as the angel who swooped down from the heavens to come to his aid. His guardian angel with the eyes of a warrior and the grace of a goddess. He could still see your easy smile brightening your face, a gentle thing that made him forget just for a moment the blood that spilled from your wounds as you shielded him.

That day was still fresh in his mind. Roasted coffee. Spilled drinks. Rocking buildings. Gentle words reassuring him that everything would be okay. He’s a hero, for heaven's sake; he shouldn’t have been paralyzed at the sight of you, marveling at how you seemed so ethereal, like a jewel from the heavens amid the muck of the earth. That gleaming smile of yours was a treasure to behold, the cure to all the fears that plagued his fractured heart.

He was quick to learn how dangerous that steady and magnificent curl of your lips was. It did a wonderful job at making others feel safe around you, but it did an even better job at making people forget that sometimes heroes needed saving, too. One flash of your smile was enough to erase the worries that tortured the minds of those lost in mayhem; it was reassuring, like a promise from the gates of heaven. It saved many, but rarely did it ever save you.

Shota hated to admit it, but he became reliant on the easy smiles you’d send his way. He felt okay. Your smiles have been a lifeline he can cling to whenever he feels himself going under— a firm promise of salvation from the shadows that follow him day and night. Along with that came your laughter, a melody that soothed the aches over his shoulders like the coolness of morning dew. It became his favorite song, a beautiful thing he could hear for all of eternity without ceasing.

And he hated to realize that there would be a day where your smile won’t rival the glow of the sun, or your laughter the song of birds. How could he become so careless? So forgetful? So naïve?

Shota never scared easily. No, he’d always roll with the punches, play the cards he’d been dealt with till the very end. He was willing to rationalize every situation known to humanity, keeping his cool and his tricks close to his chest. The erasure hero was no easy book to read, but he was always reliable. Or so he liked to believe.

It was an easy patrol under twinkling stars, collapsing bursts of fire burning far beyond your reach. His heart was at ease, he had you and that was all he needed. If he could go back in time, he’d bash his head in for ever daring to forget that you needed him too. He was focused on the mission, you were focused on making sure it was completed safely. It was too late when he realized that also meant you were making sure to keep him safe. Damn that poor sense of self-preservation of yours.

The fight didn’t last long— they never did. With your wit and his quick thinking, no mission ever stretched out for longer than necessary. It’s what has always made you such dynamic partners. You were faced with two villains, one with a fire quirk, the other with the power to turn their arms into blades. Simple. Easy.

You winced, getting on your knees to link the restraining cuffs onto the villains' wrists. “I kinda feel sorry for them,” A breath escaped your lips. “They really thought they had a fighting chance.”

Shota rolled his eyes, earning a smile from you. “They were sloppy and depended too much on their quirks and not enough on their brains. They had it coming.” He watched you from the corner of his eye, frowning as you squeezed your eyes shut, biting back a hiss of pain as you got back to your feet. “Something wrong?”

Immediately, you wiped the look of pain from your face, replacing it with a brilliant smile that made his heart flutter. Your hand reached for the back of your neck, your muscles tense. You winced slightly. “Nah, just a bit sore.” A low chuckle shook your chest. “I think one of them got lucky and landed a hit on me,” Reassurance lingered on your gaze as you flashed another smile. “But it doesn’t feel too bad, it’s fine.”

Sore eyes lingered on you, clearly weary to trust your words of reassurance. He stepped closer. “They hit you? Where?” A gentle hand cupped your cheek, his eyes instinctively looking for cuts or bruises on your skin. His eyes meet your gaze. “Where does it hurt?”

Fondness brought warmth over your heart, your eyes softening with adoration as you leaned into his touch. You turned your face, kissing the palm of his hand before locking your fingers around his. “I’m fine, really, it’s nothing to worry about.” The smile on your face widened, gleaming with a love Shota believed too precious for a man like him. “Plus, I do believe we made plans for tonight?”

He clicked his tongue, a subtle curl of his lips adorning his face. “We did.” There was a soft glimmer of joy in his eyes, one that captured the light of a thousand twinkling stars in his dark gaze.

“Then we should get going,” you said. Tugging on his hand, you pulled him close to you, just enough for you to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips. “We still have the night to spend together.” Pulling away, you winced again, this time your body freezing and tensing in pain before you shook it off.

Shota frowned. “Let me see where it hurts,” Panic rose in his chest as your smile cracked slightly, your face blanching. “Please.”

A trembling breath rushed out from your lungs, cold sweat began to race down your face. The adrenaline in your veins was burning quickly, flaring your nerves with hot pain. Trembling hands, clung to your lover’s shirt, your legs giving out from beneath you. You gasped, sucking sharp breath as Shota caught you, holding you close to his chest.

“Woah! Hey, what’s wro—?” He froze. Pulling his hand away from your back, his eyes widened at the crimson rivers that slipped through his fingers, tainting his skin. Quickly, he readjusted you, making sure you were stable against him as he checked on his other hand. Bile rose in his throat at the bloody sight. “Shit.”

You whimpered into his chest, your body shaking in his hold. “My back,” you gasped. “Ch-check my back.”

Shota gulped, nodding before going around you. Nausea pooled into his stomach, his blood running cold at the sight before him. A long, jagged wound sliced through your skin, your torn costume soaked in blood. “Damn it.” he cursed, eyes widening in panic at the rivers of blood that flowed from the open wound. It looked deep.

He thought back to the fight, his mind flying over every minuscule action, every swing of a fist, every twist of your body, every damn attack the villains had attempted on you. Anxiety fluttered in his chest uncomfortably. Then it hit him. It all came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks, heavy and unforgiving under their weight. You had pushed him away. You’d tackled him to the ground, shielding him under your body. Just as quickly as you’d pushed him out of danger, you were back on your feet and jumping back into the fight. He hadn’t even asked if you were okay back then, too distracted by the reassurance of your brilliant smile.

Damn it.

Shaking out of his panic, he wasted no time in yanking his capture weapon from around his neck, his eyes holding an apology as he turned to look at you. “We need to get you to the hospital.” He winced, shattering under your weakened gaze. “This is will hurt for a moment.”

Quickly, he began wrapping the capture weapon around your figure, hoping it would be enough to slow the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” he cooed, his hands shaking as he continued working. “I’ll make sure you’re okay, alright?” Part of him knew he was mostly trying to reassure himself. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You whimpered as he tightened the scarf around you, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you bit back a scream. Tears sprang from your eyes, a silent testament to the pain you tried so hard to keep at bay.

“C'mon, I’ve got you,” Shota whispered, prompting you to climb onto his back, his hands adjusting his grip on your legs as you weakly locked your arms around his neck, your cheek resting on his shoulder. “The hospital is close from here, okay?”

“Okay…” you mumbled, words slurring over hollowed breaths.

His heart sank. The next minutes were a rush of anxiety and desperation, his legs moving faster than he ever thought possible. The path to the hospital was clear and he knew why; if you ever see the notorious underground hero bolting down the streets with his partner injured on his back, people knew well enough to get the hell out of his way.

“Talk to me,” he urged, gasping for air as he pushed his legs to move faster. He couldn’t feel his heart in his chest. Was it racing too fast for him to register? Did it crumble under his fear? He didn’t know. He was too busy clawing his way out of a pit of dread to focus on it long enough. He needed to get you to the hospital. Tears sprang to his eyes, the smell of copper burning his nostrils. “Please, say something.”

In his panic, he tripped over his feet, crumpling to the ground and losing his hold on you. His heart ceased to beat. Desperation burned in his eyes, a million apologies choking his lungs in hope for relief. The sight before him was all too familiar, a nightmare turned memory. He crawled to you, skinned hands reaching out for your broken figure. His head spun angrily.

Another loved one broken on the ground, tethering the line between life and death. And he’s too scared to be the hero you need him to be.

“Hey, hey,” he rasped, his voice broken and raw. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I—” Trembling hands held your figure close to his chest, tears blurring his vision. “Please hang on a little longer,” he gasped. “We’re almost there.” Scarred, trembling hands took a hold of your own, a silent prayer on the tip of his tongue.

You squeezed his hand weakly. A sharp gasp tensed his burning lungs, red, tearful eyes meeting your weak gaze. “We…we can’t be late for…” you choked on your words, falling into a coughing fit that shook Shota’s heart with fear as blood sputtered from your lips. “We can’t be late for…for date night.”

Shota choked on a sob as you gave him a tired smile. Trying to meet you halfway, his lips turning into a trembling, broken grin. “Yeah, date night,” he sniffled, nodding as he scooped you clumsily into his arms. “We’ll get there in time, I promise.” Shaky legs ran down the streets under the night sky, cool breezes of winter air biting at his nose, stinging his sore eyes. Tendrils of panic clung to his heart, squeezing and tugging at the fragile little thing. “How about—” Desperately, he blinked away the tears, sharp relief settling over his tense shoulders at the near sight of the hospital. He continued, “How about we go to the bakery? Get some of those pastries you like?”

Weakly, you nodded, a broken hum thrumming through your throat. He could picture your steady smile at his suggestion.

Glass doors slammed open as he bolted through, the stench of bleach and antiseptics like acid to his nostrils. He looked over his shoulder, doing his best to muster a brave face. “Alright, then,” he whispered. “Pastries and movies are in order, okay?”

It wasn’t long until nurses swarmed around you both, bombarding the trembling hero with questions. “What happened?!” “How long has she been like this?” “Sir, are you injured?”

He felt like throwing up.

His heart sank the moment you were pried off his back, your limbs limp as they were yanked from his hold. Trembling hands reached out for you, a broken plead tumbling from his lips as tears burned his skin. Alarms were going off in his head, dumping his heart in a pit of cold fear.

He called out your name, too tired to fight off the nurses that pushed him back as you were rushed away from him, out of his reach. Anxiety burned his throat, his voice raw as it mingled with the sobs that shook his body.

There’s no telling how long he stayed like that, numbly trying to reach you, to apologize, to tear at the aches of his heart. There’s nowhere for him to hide, no refuge from the shadows that clawed at his mind with nightmares he’d memorized so long ago. His knees gave out from underneath him, dropping him onto tiled floors that taunted him with crimson splatters.

There were so many things for him to say, so many wishes to cast upon stars, so many prayers to plead for mercy. But all he could muster was a broken, haunted whisper that boomed in his head like a gunshot.

“We can’t…we can’t be late for date night.”

•

🏷 Aizawa Shota taglist:

@runaowo @beecca9 @bandaidfaerie @zawasleepingbag @retaaschilling @rvgrsbrns @samx-jpeg @girl_lost_not_found @sir-knight-slytherdor @justheretoaskandread @andrastesmoth @yaskna @izukus-gf @imloudafsocoveryourears @ikisstoga

#aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x reader #bnha aizawa #eraserhead x reader #my hero academia aizawa #mha x reader #bnha x reader #eraserhead #mha fanfic #mha angst #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic

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kiatheinsomniac · 2 years

Note

I DIDN'T REALIZE YOU WERE GOOD WITH WRITING JAMES/MARY OMG can I request a kinda rivalry between reader and James? Those kinds of scenes where two characters who don't like the other much have to fight together a group of bandita and end up saving each other

notes: I'm glad you like how I write them!

pairing: James Kidd | Mary Read x Reader

word count: 0.8k

☾ ⋆ﾟ MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

What a day

You scowled as you struggled against the bonds around your wrists, tied to the mast of Jack Rackham’s ship with a crewmate named James Kidd leaning down over you, giving you a warning look.

“Don’t try anything.” He snapped before unsheathing his cutlass and turning to face the ship that had attacked the one you were currently on, the enemy crew now boarding the vessel that you had been taken prisoner by.

“As if I could.” You shrugged your shoulders as much as the ropes would allow for emphasis as you scowled up at the young man.

You had been taken prisoner for some documents that you had stolen regarding a site known as The Observatory – your client was paying big numbers so you refused to reveal where you had hidden said documents, leading you to be taken prisoner. You were sure that this James Kidd would resort to torturing it out of you soon enough but you held out on the hope that you would be able to escape before then. This was, oddly enough, the second time this information had put you in the position of prisoner and you refused to allow it to be for nothing – you would get your damned coin and be set for the rest of your life.

Soon enough, there was fighting all around you and you could do little else other than pray that you wouldn’t be hit by a stray bullet or poorly-swung blade. However, one of these things that you dreaded (that being the poorly-swung blade) was, in fact, your salvation. A strong parry from a member of Kidd’s crew sent their enemy’s sword into the mast, slicing straight through some of the rope. The moment the fighting had moved, you exploited that weak point and, soon enough, you were no longer tied to the mast. Grabbing a dead pirate’s dagger, you took it in your hands, still bound behind you, and began to saw through the rope with it.

At last, you were free, and armed with a dead man’s sword. You tried to gather your bearings, preparing to fight Kidd’s crew in the hope that this other crew would save you until you caught a glimpse of their captain. Admiral uniform, powdered wig, sliced face from where you had permanently scarred him in your last escape.

Fuck.

You changed your mind, you would take your chances with Kidd.

Kidd might torture you for information but this Captain that Woodes Rogers had sent after you will undoubtedly torture you if only to settle a score. You began to fight against the crew who had boarded the ship that Kidd was on, picking up on the fact that whoever this ‘Rackham’ was was the Captain. Your eyes now sought out the young man who had been interrogating you beforehand. Whatever this damned Observatory was, it had got you in more than enough trouble – being taken prisoner, escaping, being taken prisoner again by someone else, having your first captor fight your second one to try and imprison you for themselves again – when this fight was over, Kidd was going to tell you what the fuck was going on if he ever wanted to get his hands on those documents. You saw that, as he was fending off two men, a third was coming up behind him and you lunged forward, sinking your sword into the third man’s torso before kicking him off your blade and charging forwards to take on one of the two men that were attacking Kidd, evening the odds some more.

At one point, Kidd’s cutlass swept in to defend you from a blow that you hadn’t been prepared for and you both decided there that you were even. It would seem that interrogation had been concluded and only negotiation would follow after this fight.

You helped Rackham’s crew to push back the invaders until the fighting was over, their Captain captured and you were panting as you leaned against the rail of the ship, wiping some blood from your brow. Kidd approached you, sheathing his blade and you tossed yours to the ground – it wasn’t really yours anyway.

“You fight well.” He commented, looking around at the carnage upon the deck.

“I answer questions well too when I’m told what the fuck is going on.” You replied, bewildered at your day’s events, “You’re going to tell me why the hell this observatory is so important and then I’m going to get those documents for you. I wash my bloody hands of them.” Kidd barked out a short laugh, finding it amusing at how someone so clueless could be the keeper of such immense, world-changing information. He was smiling at you now instead of scowling as he had when you were tied to the mast and refusing to give him any answers. A smile suited him – a lot. He looked devastatingly charming.

“Come sit with me in the cabin. It’s a long story and you might need a bit of a drink to believe it.”

“A drink sounds brilliant. What a day I’ve had.”

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee?

🏷️ @writing-noah

#james kidd x reader #james kidd #ac4 mary read #mary read x reader #mary read #assassins creed #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed fanfiction #assassins creed fanfic #assassins creed black flag #AC4

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ethereaiin · 3 years

Note

2B likes to carry Reader but doesn't like to admit it?

changed your rq a bit since i wanted some comfort fluff. also this reignited my motivation to write for my nier fic so thanks <3

features; you and 2B + some bonus 9S.

[au]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Being the only human left in the world meant a lot of things.

The weight of responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders. There was never a day that went by you weren’t reminded of how precious your life was and how losing it meant the end of humanity. The androids you’ve come to know and love never let you forget that fact. You were their salvation; their hope and most of all, their most cherished person.

2B was especially fond of you. While she was reserved with her emotions, opting to use actions to display her care, you knew that she held a soft spot for you. She treated you as if you were the most delicate thing in the world; like the slightest harm against you would break you completely. Compared to an android, of course you were weaker. Yet 2B was maybe a little too cautious.

“Is this really necessary?”

You say with a slight pout as 2B lifts you from the ground and you immediately wrap your arms around her neck. At this point, she’s done it so many times that it felt more like an instinctual habit rather than something you did to ensure you wouldn’t fall. Knowing her, it was unlikely she’d ever let you slip through her grasp. Her wary nature wouldn’t allow it.

At this point, you were somewhat used to the coldness of an android’s body. They were different from humans and they didn’t possess the natural heat you exuded. When you clung to her, it felt no different from any other person, yet the lack of warmth was like a gentle reminder. Nothing here was the same as you remembered it to be and the beings that you were surrounded with on a daily basis that appeared so human were, in fact, anything but.

2B makes no verbal sound of irritation at your question and she answers you as diligently as she always does. “Of course. We can’t afford you getting sick or hurt.”

Though she rarely ever spoke with emotion, you could still hear the tinge of concern in her voice. It only made the heat in your cheeks feel especially warmer. “A-At least let me ride on your back! You can’t fight like this with me here!”

“You’re fine right where you are.”

Your lips part to protest but quickly close when you recall the promise you made to her earlier that day. It was her condition that if you were to roam about the city, you needed to listen to everything she told you to do. No matter how you felt about it. Even if it was a little embarrassing.

Yet, this wasn’t just a one-time occurrence when it came to 2B. No matter where you were, 2B wanted to be in some form of contact with you. At the camp, she’d sit so close that you could feel the brush of her sleeves against your skin, and whenever you were given the chance to roam about, you always found yourself either in her arms or on her back.

You thought it was nothing more than android curiosity. You were the first human she’s ever interacted with after all and it wasn’t as if it were any different for you. You couldn’t deny that you too were interested in androids, especially how they all came to be. For them, they’ve always known humans as their elusive creators, but for you, it felt as if the androids seemingly came from nowhere.

You couldn’t remember much of your old life before you woke up and for now, the desolate and decrepit city you wandered in was your new home. At least until you regain the lost memories 2B promised she’d help you recover.

“So, where are we going today?” You finally ask after a brief walk in silence.

2B’s stride doesn’t break and you feel almost lulled by her rhythmic steps. She didn’t even seem the least burdened with carrying you. She was stronger than an average human, it was something you came to learn after watching her mercilessly beat down a hunk of sentient metal. Just with her fists alone she was able to put a dent in steel. To her, your weight was of little consequence.

Often, you wondered what you felt like in her arms.

She glanced down at you, visage half shrouded by the blindfold around her eyes though the curve of a smile on her lips shows her excitement. “. . . You’ll see.”

She doesn’t say anymore after that and the both of you continue on in silence. Not that you minded it too much. 2B was never a conversationalist, she relied more on actions than words to convey how she felt. You liked that part of her. Her actions were always well thought out and held meaning, Whether she knew it or not, it made every little thing she did for you feel a little more sincere.

From your place in her arms, you took in the sights of the city. As dilapidated and broken as the world around you seemed, it was oddly beautiful. Never had you seen so much green in your life. Flora grew from the cracks between the roads and overtook the concrete buildings towering above you. Looking up towards the sky, you could see flocks of birds flying towards a destination you would never know, their distant calls an interruption to the silence. You don’t remember much of the old world, but you knew this city was never meant to be this quiet.

You desperately wished to regain your lost memories, yet there was a part of you who wasn’t so eager. Often the thought crossed your mind; maybe you were better off without them. Remembering would only leave you with the desire for a world long gone along with the total realization of your unfathomable luck. You, the last of your kind, were left all alone while the world died and withered without you. If there was a god, surely they wouldn’t have condemned you to such a lonely fate.

“Look,”

At the sound of her voice, you glance up at her only to direct your sight towards whatever she was referring to. While you were deep in thought you hadn’t noticed the direction she was heading in and you found yourself atop a wooden bridge placed just behind the walls of what looked to be an amusement park. From where 2B stood, you couldn’t see much, but you were given an incredible view of the distant castle.

“I-Is that an- Woah!”

The words died right on your tongue as an explosion of color suddenly took over the sky. Even from the great distance between you and the park, you were able to hear the crackling of fireworks. The sky, which you thought the sun would never set for, was darkened with the smoke from the war 2B and 9S constantly talked about. The colors were brightened against it, making their visibility clearer and their colors vivid. With your eyes locked onto the sight before you, you tapped on 2B’s shoulder as a silent request to be let down. She complied, allowing you to step near the edge of the bridge to take a closer look at the fireworks.

You thought you couldn’t remember anything from the old world, yet the moment you gazed upon the fireworks lighting up the sky; you remembered them instantaneously. You remembered their putrid smell, how loud they could be, and the fear you used to harbor for them when you were younger.

Even if you used to be scared of them, even if you thought they were too loud and hated the way they smelled; at this moment, you thought they were the prettiest things you’ve ever seen.

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes and it was only until you felt them run down your cheeks that you paid them any mind. Though before you could even attempt to wipe them, you felt the distinct sensation of leather gently running across your cheek.

2B stood at your side, looking down at you with a small smile on her face, one you gladly returned. She doesn’t ask you the reason for your tears, nor does she look hurt by their appearance. She lets you be, standing at your side for as long as you allow her whilst providing unspoken support. It warmed you to the deepest part of your heart. Her kindness, although silent and unvoiced, was always apparent to you. She cared deeply for you. You didn’t need her to say it for you to know.

Your hand slips into hers all too naturally and under the crackling fireworks above, you think of only the promising future.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extra:

“Why do you like to carry me so much?”

The question was asked more straightforward than what they were used to hearing from you. If there was anything 2B and 9S learned from their journey with you so far, it was that you never said what you felt. You looked for gentler ways to word your questions as if your care would be understood by androids who had no grasp of discretion.

2B, like always, never fails to leave your question unanswered and replies as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re warm.”

2B’s forthright reply even shocked 9S who was walking alongside her. “2B! Don’t you think that’s a little. . .”

You blushed slightly at her reply, burying your face against her shoulder as if that would take away from your embarrassment. From your place on her back, you were unable to see what kind of face she was making. As if that damned blindfold would give you the opportunity anyway. Though you doubted she would feel even a pinch of shame. 2B spoke nothing but the truth and that only made her words all the more brazen.

“What? You don’t agree?” She pauses in her steps, turning towards him which then forces you to face him as well. “Have you never touched her?”

You felt as if you would just die right then and there, yet you can’t help yourself from timidly peeking out at 9S from over 2B’s shoulder. He looks like he’s in thought for a moment, with a gloved hand on his chin and his lips twisted to the side. There’s only a moment’s delay between 2B’s question and his answer.

“Well. . . yeah, you’re not wrong. She’s even nicer to hug.”

Having enough of this conversation, you raise up your head to throw 9S a light glare. “Guys, can we please just get back to camp already?”

Throwing his hands up, 9S cheekily grins at you before continuing down the road towards the resistance camp. 2B follows shortly after him, her lips spread into an equally amused smile. While it might have been normal for 9S to show emotion resembling that of a human’s the feeling that stirred in 2B’s chest was quite foreign to her. She didn’t know what to call this feeling, but she didn’t hate it. It was a delightful buzz, one that she often felt around you and only you.

“Humans are softer than I imagined.” She added, her smile brightening at the sound of your muffled groan.

9S didn't hesitate to tag in on the teasing even from his place further ahead of you. “You know, I think we should include that in our report to the Commander. . .”

“Guys!”

#requests #finished requests #nier 2B #2B #2B x reader #x reader #reader insert fanfiction #female reader #2nd person pov #you/your #nier fanfiction #alternate universe #i havent written for my nier fic in MONTHS #also a little 9s x reader #just a tiny bit #fluff

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 3 years

Note

Hello! i just read most of ur works ANDD I LOVE IT! so, can i request for nozel x s/o when he sees her in a wedding dress for the first time? like, he could only see a gorgeous angell aww. big fluff pls! thank you, hv a good dayy.

SDHGDSG Most of it?! Damn, 'cause that's a lot 😶 Thank youuu! 😭💕 Ah, the moment the doors open and the bride starts walking down the aisle... 🥰 I hope you like this! ^-^

Pairing: Nozel Silva x f!reader

Fic type: Oneshot

Genre: Fluff

The day was finally here. The day Nozel would finally get to marry you. He wasn’t sure how many days it had been since he had known that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. But. He did know that the days between that and this had been far too many. For far too long you both had waited for this blessed day, but it was finally here.

And yet, he couldn’t feel restless. He couldn’t help but feel butterflies swirling in his stomach, clashing against his insides and making him feel slightly nauseous. His heart raced, as if trying to leap out from his chest and run to you. His throat felt dry, and he wanted to pace around the altar. But he couldn’t. Oh no. It wasn’t fit for royalty.

So. He had to settle in standing there with a dry throat and anticipation that made him tremble, even if only slightly. Even if it felt ridiculous. He had never been as certain about anything as he was about this decision. Nothing made as much sense to him, as this marriage.

Happiness… That’s the one thing he had felt when you had entered his life. And that was one of the things, the taste of which he had almost forgotten. But never again, would he forget, not as long as you were in his life. Troubles and differences there might be, just like in any marriage, but… he’d be happy nonetheless. And he hoped to make you happy as well.

Damn, a part of him didn’t even think that you’d accept his proposal, simply because he knew that he was so broken. But you had. You had and that had been the happiest day of his life… until now.

The doors started opening, and as if by impulse, Nozel straightened his back in an effort to compose himself. He tried to ready himself for the sight that would be revealed from behind the door: you, his dear wife to be.

He tried, but failed miserably. As, once the door opened, and your smiling expression came in sight, he forgot the taste of air, and became blind to everything else than you. For a moment he questioned if he had died while holding his breath and had been granted a place in heaven, for it was an angel approaching him. But the thought lasted only for a fraction of a second, as he knew your tender, soft, loving smile. He knew it, and it made him loose sense of himself as all that he could see was you, all that he could focus, was you.

Your dress just emphasized your beauty, enveloping you in nothing by divine light. That, right there, was his glimpse of salvation that he wasn’t sure if he’d get to experience in afterlife. But he didn’t mind, because he got to experience heaven with you, which was more than he could’ve asked for.

So, engulfed he was in just admiring you, that he barely realized you to have walked all the way down the aisle, and standing right next to him.

“Do I look-“ you managed to whisper, but before you had managed to finish the sentence, he was already giving you a reply.

“Angelic,” he replied, thinking how it barely began describing how beautiful, absolutely jaw dropping, you looked. But even if given all the time in the world to reply, he wouldn’t have deemed any answer satisfactory.

And, in there lied another salvation of his. He’d have the rest of his life time to show you, just how much he adored you. Words might never be enough, but he could spend the days he still had left on earth, trying to shed some light to the depth of his emotions. This would be the beginning of the rest of your lives. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#nozel silva x reader #nozel x reader #black clover fanfic #black clover oneshots #black clover x reader

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archxvxd · 3 years

Note

Hi fellow Taurus bestie…I’m a long time reader and first time anon 🙈 so I got this idea and I had to share incase you wanna write about it 👀 anyways…I was listening to Slow Down by Chase Atlantic and this time the lyric “she said fuck me like I’m famous, I said oh-kay” stuck out to me and I was like wait a min 🤔✋🏼 what if there was a fic where the guy (I thought of Bakugo/Kuroo/Iwaizumi 🙈🙈🙈) was a singer and the reader is his crush/new gf…?? Anyways!! They’re getting ‘into it’ after a show/concert and she’s like… “if you can fuck as good as you sing, show me.” And he’s like bet and he wrecks her, breaks her back and all that

Anyways lemme know whatcha think bestie…🙈 I was kinda nervous to send this but I was like fuck it lemme do it before I forget and yeah…

A/N: Taurus Bestie🥺 You’re brain is immaculate please. Don’t ever hesitate to send me asks! I love interacting with y’all, I’m just not very good at initiating :(( I love this idea so much and I really thought it fit Iwaizumi well so I hope you enjoy!

Prompt: “If you can fuck as good as you can sing, show me.”

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Iwaizumi x fem!reader

Warnings: spit, oral (reader receiving), daddy kink, impact play, degradation, praising, swearing, hair pulling, choking, creampie, breeding if you squint, heavily unedited bc I hate editing my own smut😔✊🏼

Word count: 2.43k

You and Iwaizumi had been friends since high school, but even so, you had never been to one of his band’s shows before. Sure you had heard him sing many times and you knew he was talented, but this experience, getting to watch him from a VIP box while hundreds of thousands of people were cheering for him and singing along to his music? It was absolutely surreal. You admired how Iwaizumi seemed to belong on that stage.

However, the scene of Iwaizumi singing his heart out was doing things to you. Tonight was the last show of his tour, after that he was planning to go on hiatus for a few months before going back to the studio with his band. This was it. You had backstage privileges, courtesy of the singer himself, and you planned on making your move tonight. When Iwa left for his tour at the beginning of the year you were faced with some surprising feelings.

You realized you missed him more than just a friend should…

The set ended and the crowd was still going wild. You make your way backstage as the band plays a final encore song. When Iwaizumi emerges from the stage, sweat gleaming off of his ink littered muscles you practically salvate at the image. The lead singer immediately sets his eyes on you and makes a beeline towards you.

Iwaizumi doesn’t give you a chance to say anything. It had been over a year since he had last seen you in person and his adrenaline was running high. It was now or never. So he scooped you into his arms and crashed his lips to yours. As soon as the shock passes, you reciprocate his extremely passionate kiss.

Iwaizumi hums in approval at your quick submission and bites your lower lip before pulling away, letting a string of saliva form keep the two of you connected before it snaps.

“Shit, Yn. You know how long I’ve wanted to do that. I missed you so much it was maddening.” He lays his sweaty forehead on yours, pupils blown wide with adrenaline and lust.

You giggle at his declaration. “Missed you too, Haji. Where are you staying?”

A deep chuckle escapes his swollen lips. “At a hotel, Princess. Why?”

“Want you to show me if you can fuck me as good as you can sing.” You grin devilishly and Iwa returns the expression.

The musician opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by one of his band members who has already been eyeing you. “Hey, Iwa! Ya coming to the after party or what?”

Iwaizumi slings his arm over you. “Nah, man. Go on ahead without me. I got a different party to attend.”

The band member chuckles and shakes his head before waving and taking his exit.

You two lead by example and take your own exit.

The second the two of you make it to Iwa’s room, he has you pressed against the wall with his lips attached to yours. His tongue has already made it past your lips, exploring the cavern of your mouth, occasionally dancing with yours. You moan into his mouth, and as much as you don’t want to, you have to pull away for air.

Iwaizumi takes this opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His hands, which were previously holding onto your hips in a bruising grip, move up your torso under your shirt. He makes a delighted chuckle when he notices that you're not wearing a bra.

“Hmm not wearing anything underneath your shirt to my show? Is that why your tits looked absolutely delectable bouncing around while you danced during the concert, huh?”

You whine as his hands grope at your chest and tweak your nipples. “Hah-fuck- wanted you to have something to look at, Haji-“

Iwaizumi cuts you off with a low growl and a particularly pleasing pinch of the nipples. “No. I’m not Haji right now, Princess. Say it.”

You let out a moan at the singer’s insinuation. “Wanted you t-to have something to look at, Daddy.”

“Mmm well you certainly didn’t disappoint, Princess. Had a hard time keeping my eyes off of you.” Iwa chuckles while he lowers himself down to his knees. “Between how cute your ass looks in this short little skirt of yours and your tits I almost lost my damn mind. Messed up a few lyrics thanks to you, Princess.”

You whimper as the singer nips and sucks on your inner thighs. “Fuck- Daddy… Wanted your attention. Didn’t mean to distract you.”

Iwaizumi’s lips are everywhere but where you need him most. He continues to kiss your thighs and lick them and give the occasional bite and suck combo. Your hands find their way to his sweat damp hair and tug, earning a groan and particularly harsh bite from the man below you. You whimper at the singer’s rough ministrations. Your head is thrown back on the wall behind you as Iwaizumi inches closer to where you want him.

“Daddy, please~” You tug on his hair eliciting another groan.

Iwa looks up at you in amusement. “Hmm what do you want, Princess? Gotta use your words, Pretty Baby.”

You huff in frustration but indulge him anyway. “Need your mouth and tongue, please~”

A chuckle can be heard but you’re no longer looking at Iwaizumi. “I’m giving you my mouth and tongue aren’t I. Princess? Is it that you need them somewhere specifically?” Iwa kisses your lower pelvis, just above your clothed clit.

“I- hah- Fuck, Daddy need your mouth and tongue and fingers in my pussy and on my clit. Please, please, please~ Need you s’ ba- ngh~”

Iwa cuts you off by the sting of him ripping your panties apart and diving his tongue into your drooling cunt. The slurping noises he’s making are obscene but you don’t have time to be embarrassed because at that very moment the singer replaced his tongue with two fingers and reattached his mouth to your clit. You moan and tug harshly on his hair, Iwa lets out his own moan that reverberates throughout your entire being.

“Mmh- Fuck~ feels so good, Daddy. S’ much better than my own fingers- Oh my- fu- fuck right there please keep touching me right there, Daddy…”

You're lost in your own pleasure and you don’t even notice the way Iwaizumi is watching you. His eyes gleaming with pride and lust at the thought of you feeling so good because of him. He can feel himself growing uncomfortably hard but ignores the nagging heat pooling in his lower abdomen. His focus solely on making you cum at least once before he lets himself fuck you senseless.

Judging from your increasingly desperate pleas, you were close to giving Iwa what he wanted. Your fists in the man’s hair are clenched so fiercely that your knuckles have turned a lighter shade than the rest of your skin. Your breathing has increased in both speed and volume, moans and whimpers constantly spilling from your lips, keeping you from forming any coherent sentences.

Iwa chuckles and you nearly screech at the sensation that shoots through your body from his amusement. “You gonna cum, Princess? You sound so damn desperate. Sounds like you’re gonna cum all over my mouth, hm?”

It takes everything you have to respond, knowing if you don’t it may not end well for you. “Hah— F-fuck— mmmm gon’ cum— wan’ cum— Daddy~”

“Do it, Princess. I want to drink up all that you got.” Iwa starts curling his fingers inside of you and that’s what does you in. Your back arches and you nearly scream from the sudden burst of white hot pleasure. Iwa doesn’t slow down his ministrations either. His fingers curling incessantly and tongue lapping up everything you have to offer him. Your mind becomes fuzzy and you don’t even register Hajime picking you up and tossing you onto the king sized bed.

In your dazed state you hardly recognize that Iwaizumi is speaking to you until his hand is cradling your cheek. “Hey. Princess. You with me? I need you to tell me you’re good before I move further, okay?”

“Daddy… ‘m good, want you to fuck me now, please~” You sigh at the thought of Iwa filling you up and begin to grow impatient.

Hajime chuckles. “That’s my pretty baby. Can you strip and get on your hands and knees for me, Princess?”

You nod and quickly remove your remaining clothing. You make a show of turning around and arching your back just to wiggle your ass up at Iwaizumi. A low groan can be heard as a result of you teasing the man behind you. Then suddenly your body is jolted forward as you mewl at the impact of Hajime’s palm connecting roughly with your ass.

“Such a fuckin’ tease, Princess. Havin’ your tits out on display, wearin’ that cute lil’ skirt, and now shakin’ your plump ass at me. Hmm,” Iwa caresses the cheek he had just previously assaulted. “ I would punish you if I didn’t wanna stuff this pretty lil’ cunny of yours with my fat cock. Maybe next time, hm? Bet you would like that wouldn’t you, Princess?”

You take in a shuddering breath before responding desperately. “N-no not doin’ it on purpose, daddy. Promise~ Wanna be your good girl please~”

“I think you’re body is betrayin’ you, Princess, the way you just gushed from a single smack to the ass tells me otherwise. I think you like being a naughty little cockslut, hmm, like being punished. But I guess for now we can pretend you’re my good girl, hm?” With that Iwa rubs the tip of his cock up and down through your folds lamenting his previous words of stating just how wet you were for the musician. “You ready for me, Princess?”

Instead of answering you push back into Iwa’s touch and sink the tip of Iwa’s length into your dripping entrance with ease. Large fingers dig into your plush ass to stop you from going further and lull a whimper to pass through your lips. Iwa leans down and growls into your ear. “Such a fuckin’ impatient and bratty little slut, hm? Couldn’t wait for me to put it in. Had to take it upon yourself?”

As Iwa growls into your ear about how much of a brat you are as he’s sinking himself deeper into your pussy. Your eyes roll back into your head. His sheer size alone brings you close to your second orgasm. You can hear breathy curses fall from Iwa’s lips. His fingers dig deeper into your ass as you dig into the pillow you’re whimpering into.

“F-fuck, Princess, you’re so fucking tight. This pretty little cunny is already squeezing me so tight. You that close, pretty baby? Just from me putting my cock in you, fuck that’s so fuckin’ cute.” Hajime releases one of his grips on your cheeks to tangle his fingers in your hair and experiments with a gentle tug. He’s more than pleased with your reaction as your back arches further and multiple whimpers stumble out of you.

The coil that’s been building in your stomach is snapped by Iwaizumi bottoming out with his tip prodding your cervix. You wail and violently clench around the musician as your vision blurs. You’re babbling nonsense while Iwaizumi throws his head back.

“Oh fuck, Princess. You really came from me just bottoming out. Fuck, your such a desperate little cockslut. Feel so good, sucking me in like this-- shit think you got one more in ya my pretty little cockslut?”

You whimper and plead. “D-daddy, please~ Want you to move-- need you to fuck me so good~ Please~”

Iwa amusedly chuckles at your babbling but grants your wish anyway. His hips draw back slowly, allowing you to feel every single throbbing vein on his dick and once he’s pulled out to just the tip he lands a harsh smack to your ass and snaps his hips into you. His rough pace doesn’t let up after that. He’s ramming into you as you cover your screams with the pillows underneath you. Iwa clearly has other ideas, though, as he tugs on your hair to pull you off the slobber stained pillow.

“Shit-- Wanna hear those pretty screams, Princess. Let everyone know that ‘m making you feel good okay?” After no reply Hajime tugs on your hair again,

“Y-yes daddy! You’re making me feel so f-fuckin’ goo’! Gonna make me cum ‘gain- mmmm fuck~” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Iwa brings you up to his chest and changes the angle.

He’s reaching further into you and if it weren’t for his arms securely holding you-- one wrapped around your waist, the other crossed your chest and his hand gripping your neck-- You probably would be thrashing in pleasure. Iwa leans down to place his mouth right next to your ear and growls.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck pretty baby. ‘M so fuckin’ close. You gonna cum with me, Princess? Gonna cream all over me while I fill you up with my cum? Bet you'd like that hm? Your slutty little cunt filled to the brim with my cum?” Iwa moves his hold around your waist to play with your clit.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and let out a silent scream. “Shi- oh my- Fuck, daddy, gon’ cum, want you to cum with me. Cum in me, please! Fuck! Daddy ‘m cumming- shit~ “

You’re seeing stars and screaming incoherently as you vaguely register Iwa’s grunts and sloppy thrusts. His hot seed spurting into you as he rides out both your orgasms. Your vision comes back to you and you feel yourself slump into the musician's hold. You hum contentedly as you feel Iwa begin to soften inside of you.

He peppers you with kisses and nuzzles himself into your neck, causing you to giggle. “Fuck, Princess. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hold ya like this.”

“Hmm what a couple of idiots huh?” Iwa looks up at you and chuckles.

“I guess so,” you squeal as Iwa flips the two of you so you’re on your back with him hovering you, expertly keeping himself inside of you, “we’ve got some catching up to do now don’t we, Princess?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “W-what do you mean? We’re not done?”

Iwa chuckles as he slowly begins to pump himself into you. You whine from sensitivity. “Princess, we’re just getting started.”

Hq!! Permanent Taglist: @katsulovee

#📬. tam gets mail #{. 👻}#{. toorusangel}#{. written request}#hq #hq!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#iwaizumi #hajime #hajime iwaizumi #iwachan #hq smut #hq fic #iwaizumi x female reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi fic

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil.

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund.

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe!

He knew where she would be.

The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of.

It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day.

It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits.

It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation.

Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God.

But sometimes he struggled with just being a man.

Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity.

Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights.

To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness.

And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation.

Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them.

And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone.

"Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress.

"I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

"Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

"I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

"You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

"I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him.

But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.

"If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves.

"Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him.

"I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet.

The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers.

"Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

"I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should.

Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other.

Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out.

"Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?"

"Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know.

Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured.

His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of.

After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand.

"Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station.

"Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip.

They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished.

Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel.

*****

With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York.

Captured by heathens.

Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils.

What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine.

When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her.

They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her.

*****

"You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

"There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue.

Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

"They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

"What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone.

Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper.

"You slaughter when it suits you."

Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

But it was all in vain.

He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you."

"But not you."

"No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God.

There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound.

"I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself.

The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement.

A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks.

Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong.

He prayed his nightmares were wrong.

Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind.

The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested.

As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive.

"You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them.

She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded.

"Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding.

"Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip.

"Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him.

"Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal.

"Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze.

She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

"Are they treating you well?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup.

And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her.

His nightmare coming to pass.

He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings.

"I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation.

Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again.

"Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly.

Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her.

"Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

"Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

"Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do.

At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him.

Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered.

"You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin.

Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew.

"I said leave, thrall."

As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away.

The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her?

"Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good.

"Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

"She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

"No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

"You love her."

"How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.

"Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

"I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering.

"Aren't we all."

He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.

*****

The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts.

The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains.

Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament.

Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips.

All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets.

Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'.

He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone.

Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment.

"Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also.

Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

"Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently.

Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking.

Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby.

He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile.

"He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory.

The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him.

Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize.

Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

"You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled.

His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe.

Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that.

#sophies500 #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings ivar #bishop heahmund #heahmund #bishop heahmund x reader #heahmund x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #mzwrites

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urimaginespimp · 3 years

Text

Untouchable (This Love pt 8)

Bucky x reader (elemental witch)

Set during TFATWS mainly episodes 4-5

Note: Little references on You All Over Me

Previous Part: Happiness

--------

“I’m letting you go, Bucky.”

It felt like he watched a part of himself die as soon as those words left your lips. How could he have been so late to realize that he’s in love with you? And in the worst possible time ever; When you finally look like you’re in peace and ready to open yourself once more to the world.

“I’d really like to be friends with you again someday. Maybe as you’ve said before, I will thank you.” You genuinely smiled at him and he almost wanted to yell at you to take it back. To say that you still want to be together.

But that would be so cruel of him. So he merely returned a smile, hoping that it came off genuine.

“You go alert Sam. I’m gonna try my best to stall Ayo and the other women. Though I doubt I could buy you more than a few seconds once the eighth hour rolls around.” you grinned and turned to go find where the Dora Milaje were waiting.

--------

Eight hours have passed and you were now taking the Dora Milaje to where Sam, Bucky, and Zemo would be.

Only when you were outside the door, you could hear an unfamiliar man’s voice almost threatening Sam into a fight.

“He’d die before he thinks he can hurt a friend to the throne.” Ayo commented, and before you knew it, one of them have thrown their spear before the man who you now can assume as discount Captain America could even raise a fist to Sam.

You walked in beside Ayo and based on Bucky’s expression, their business with Zemo wasn’t even close to done yet.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.” Ayo declared out loud in the room. “Release him to us now.”

“Hi. John Walker. Captain America.” The man interrupted. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. This didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky however, who was mentally kicking himself because now was not the time to be reminded that he knows how those felt against his. The little taste of heaven he got.

“You were like a little sister to Steve Rogers, right?” He turned his attention to you with a cheery voice. “Happy to finally meet your new big brother?” He jested.

“Sorry. That positions been long taken over ever since the potty mouth racoon started exchanging memes with me.” you retort with a shrug, which made Sam cough to hide his chuckles, and Zemo to look at you as if that was the craziest thing he’s ever heard.

“Well, let’s uh, put down the pointy sticks and we can walk this through, huh?” Walker tried to gain control over the room’s atmosphere.

“Hey, John. Take it easy.” Sam butted in. “You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje. Or even worse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I think I can take some water or rocks being thrown at me.” He smirked at you, making the side of your lip twitch.

“Careful, Walker, I’m almost twitching to blend that bloodstream of yours. I can control you like a puppet and I wouldn’t even have to move an inch from where I’m standing.” You smiled at him almost eerily, and Bucky was sporting a proud look on his face.

But of course, you weren’t gonna do it. You’ve long vowed to put puppeting the living off the table unless it was a life and death situation.

Walker gulped before turning once again to Ayo. “The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” You could almost see steam coming out of Ayo’s ears as she spoke. She could also feel that something didn’t feel right with this man.

Looking at his companion, you could see that unlike Walker, he was getting nervous.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Walker played it off, before he layed his hand on Ayo.

Then all hell broke loose.

--------

Ayo literally disarmed Bucky. Both of you shared the same shocked expression.

Walker was catching his breath after they handed his ass to him, and was failing miserably to remove the spear that held the shield up on the table.

Ayo opened the doors to where Zemo had last gone into, only to find it empty.

One of the women took the spear off effortlessly and picked up the shield as Walker was now on the ground looking defeated.

“He is gone. Leave it.” Ayo told her.

Picking his Vibranium arm off the ground, Bucky was still trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam asked, just getting up from the floor.

“Guessing from his reaction, no.” You commented as he attached it back and tested it. “Are you alright?” you approached him. His arm worked just fine. Relief flooded him.

“Yeah. How about you? You still got cuts and bruises from Madripoor.” He reaches out and holds a side of your jaw to turn your head as if to assess the minor damages on your face, causing your breath to hitch.

This was the first time he got to touch you again after all the distancing and avoiding you’ve been doing before. He smiled at you sweetly, making you confused. Sam was also giving Bucky a questioning look.

“I think I’m gonna help them look for Zemo. You guys gonna be alright?” you stepped back away from him and turned to Sam, and he nodded before giving you a hug and told you to be safe.

You gave Bucky a smile before leaving to catch up with the Dora Milaje. As soon as you were out of earshot, Sam turned to him with a smug expression.

“Have something to share, Bucky?” He asked playfully, already having a hunch why Bucky was acting all weird.

“Sam, I’m in love with her.” He replied, still staring at the direction where you just exited.

“Yeah, I figured.” he snorted in reply. It was about damn time.

“But just when it hit me, she then says she’s letting me go. Now I’m the one caught up in her.”

“Well that’s some angsty shit right there, man. Let’s grab something to eat first and talk about how your cyborg brain finally named the feelings you’ve had all this time.” Sam pats his shoulder before muttering that he was gonna need food for this discussion.

--------

You had an inkling that Zemo was heading to Sokovia. And it seemed that Bucky had the same though as he caught up on you and the Dora Milaje on your way there.

The moment you saw him, the dried blood on his face raised your concerns, and he was trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying your attention when you insisted on patching him up, and you were oblivious to the Dora Milaje’s teasing glances thrown his way, and even when one of them mouthed the word simps to him.

He made a mental note to look up what that means later.

I thought you’d be here sooner.” Zemo spoke as he got nearer. “Don’t worry, I’ve decided I’m not going to kill you.”

“Imagine my relief.” Bucky replied, clicking the gun on his side.

“The girl has been radicalized beyond salvation. I warned Sam, but he didn’t listen to me. He’s as stubborn as Steve Rogers before him. But you... they literally programmed you to kill. James, do what needs to be done. Karli has people everywhere, and there’s only one way to make sure she cannot continue her mission.” Zemo rationalized.

“I appreciate the advice. But we’re gonna do it our own way.”

Zemo chuckled softly. “Yeah. I was afraid you would say that.”

Raising the gun to his head, there was no once of fear in Zemo’s eyes, rather it looked like he was ready to be reunited with his family. This was further shown when he actually nodded at Bucky.

Only that nothing happened as he pulled the trigger. Instead, he raised his left fist, and as he opened it, the bullets fell off, clanking on the ground.

Just then, three of the Dora Milajes marched up behind him, ready to take him away this time.

“Ladies...” he acknowledged them before turning back to him. “I took the liberty of crossing my name in your book. I hold no grudges for what you thought you had to do.” Bucky nodded, appreciating the gesture.

“Parting words of advice...” Zemo spoke again, this time lower as he knew you might be somewhere nearer and might hear what he’s about to say next.

“Like every other dollar in our pockets, you can’t change where it’s been, James. Much the same goes for you. But Y/N... She loves you nonetheless. And if my eyes don’t deceive me, I’d say you feel the same but she’s doesn’t know that.” he smiles at him

“I’d only realized it myself recently.” He confesses, only then realizing that the three women were listening and now had their brows raised in surprise.

“Don’t be too late.” Zemo grinned in satisfaction of his confession.

“I’m gonna work on that, thank you.” He returned the smile.

“Goodbye, James.”

As you saw them lead Zemo to the ship, you took that as your cue to finally approach them. You’d witness the entire thing, except that it was all inaudible from where you’ve been standing.

“It would be prudent to make yourself scare in Wakanda for the time being, White Wolf.” You heard Ayo advise him as you were finally in earshot’s way.

“Fair enough.” he replies in understanding.

Ayo nodded at you as you came closer to where they were, and she shot you a teasing wink, confusing you while Bucky cleared his throat in embarrassment.

“We’ll wait for you in the ship.” she told you.

“I didn’t know you could be so theatrical, Bucky.” You grinned teasingly at him.

“Had to give you a little inkling to what was happening since you were so far away.” He gave you a boyish smile.

“You’re gonna pick those up later, right?” you gestured at the bullets still on the ground.

“Yeah, just after all of you are gone. Don’t wanna ruin the magic of that scene.” He replied scratching the back of his head, making you laugh.

"You’re going back to Wakanda with them?” Because if you are, then the universe was definitely punishing him since he can’t really go there right now as he pleases.

“Yeah, I’m long overdue for a visit.” You answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything to them. You’d be in their good graces again in no time.” you assured.

As you spoke, the sun was just starting to set behind you, creating a golden outline of you. The sight was making his heart pound. To him you were burning brighter than the sun.

Yep, the universe is definitely fucking me. He thought to himself.

And as you stepped closer, he felt like he was coming undone when you hesitantly pulled him in for a small hug.

“Take care of yourself, James.” you whispered.

James. She called me James. Heat was rising up in him.

Breaking off from the hug, you were blushing. “It’s alright if I call you that too, right? I mean I know I said that’s what I called 1940s you when we were testing the time portal, but it’s still you, you know, and-”

“You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart.” He cut off your rambling, smiling at you. “Just not Barnes again.” He added.

“Why?”

“Well, you were mad at me the whole time you did so.”

“Okay, dipshit.”

“Y/N.” he feigned offense.

You laughed at his expense. “I’ll let either one of you know if I’m back in New Asgard.”

“We’ll have a lot of catching up to do by then.” He smiled, and you turned to head to the ship where unbeknownst to you, the women and Zemo have been watching the two of you interacting.

“Hey Y/N?” Bucky called out to you at the last second.

“Yeah?”

He was contemplating whether he’d just tell you right then and there about his feelings. It was starting to eat him up, but then he shook it off, knowing that he and Sam still had a mission to finish first.

“I... I may have another favor to ask Wakanda.”

--------

When he got to Sam’s hometown, he saw that there was a community of people helping repair a boat. It reminded him of his time working with in the docs.

He’s now offered his services to help Sam repair their family boat. He’s also met his sister Sara, nad he was surprised that when he made an attempt to be charming, it actually kind of worked.

They were now enjoying a drink together after a day’s worth of fixing.

“Talked to Y/N, yet?” Sam asked him, taking a swing of the bottle.

“She’s a lot more friendly to me now which is both a good and bad sign for me. But I haven’t told her yet. Not really a good time.” he answered in dep thought.

“You know before we got ourselves tangled into this mess, like way before Walker happened and you decided to show up, we were in constant communication.” Sam shared.

“Yeah?” he failed to hide the jealousy in his voice, causing Sam to crack up.

“Don’t get your metal panties in a twist, man. We were mostly talking about you." he clarified. “She knew you didn’t want to see her - which I beg to differ by the way – but she was somehow hoping you would at least be talking to me.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring your calls and text.” He says to Sam, which the man assured him was fine. “There were instances at night where I couldn’t sleep and my thoughts would be plagued with her. That I wish I hadn’t been so rash with making the decision to be alone and leave her the way I did.” this was the first time he talked about it to someone. His own therapist didn’t know a thing about it.

“Let me ask you something. Where do you want to stand in her life after all of this is over?” Sam knew this wasn’t what co-workers would be talking about but he knew that this was for the good of you both.

“I want to spend the rest of my years making it up to her. To let her know that while it took me long to realize it, we were actually always in the same page.” He found himself replying with no hesitation. Sam was satisfied with this answer.

“And how are you gonna convince her to give you a chance?”

He shrugged. He didn’t know just yet.

“Tell you what. The younger people around here know their stuff when it comes to matters of the heart. I’ll have them make a manuscript you could read, or a video tutorial.” He chuckles. He had no idea Sam was being serious.

“Well...” Bucky got up and clinked their bottles together. “Gotta catch my flight tomorrow. Get a hotel for the night. Crash, you know?”

“You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?” Sam grinned, shaking his head.

“Well I don’t wanna make it weird for your family.” He shrugged.

“Just stay here. The people in this town are the most welcoming people in the world. They don’t care if you wear small T-shirts, or if you have six toes, or if your mom’s your aunt, or that I work with a reformed cyborg that’s in love with a witch that’s practically an avatar, who apparently single-handedly secured her adoptive father’s kingdom’s economy-” Bucky chuckled at Sam’s ramblings.

“Okay, I get it. I mean, you know, the people are nice.” he concedes.

“But don’t displace your feelings for Y/n by flirting with my sister.” Sam pointed at him. “Cause if you do, I’ll have Carlos cut you up, feed half of you to the fish, and send the other half to New Asgard so they could to feed you to their fish.”

“Okay.”

--------

He was gazing up at the stars, feeling the soft grass underneath his lying figure. The comfort and peace it gave him was almost nostalgic.

“How is it possible that this place also has the best set of stars for us to look at?” A voice spoke next to him. Turning his head to where it came from, his heart fluttered as he welcomed the sight of you lying next to him, looking up the sky with such wander in your eyes.

He recognizes this scenario. He had just woken up once again from a nightmare, and couldn’t fall back asleep despite your presence. So, you proposed you’d both get some fresh air and just lay out on the field while the rest of Wakanda was fast asleep.

At first he was hesitant, not wanting to keep you up any longer, but you insisted that you haven’t been able to sleep a wink before he woke up from his nightmare. That’s how he groggily got up and took the hand you offered up to him as you lead him out of your shared hut, and into the wide field before you.

“Ayo said you’re having progress.” you turned your head to look at him. This time, he was the one stuck looking up the sky. He merely let out a small grunt as a response.

“I’m proud of you, Buck.” He could almost hear the smile from your tone. The genuineness of it all made the side of his lip twitch.

Getting up halfway to face him, you were supporting yourself up with your elbow. “We could celebrate if you want.” you suggested.

“I’m not even fully recovered yet.” he replied.

“So? Every milestone to recovery should be celebrated.” you shrugged. “C’mon old man, it doesn’t have to be grand. Any piece of treat you have in mind?”

“I’ve been meaning to try sushi.” He muttered shyly.

“Consider it done.” you beamed at him, laying back down.

There it was again. The tingly feeling he had in his stomach, which only ever occurred every time you were near. Maybe this was the feeling of gratitude. You’ve never been less than nice to him.

Yeah, that explains it. He thinks to himself.

“Why are you so fine with spending your days here anyway? Don’t you have someone waiting on you out of Wakanda? Steve said you’re more social than him.” He found himself asking.

Still looking up, you were sporting a gentle smile on your face. “I spent a great deal reading up classic romance novels when I was just learning the Midgardian ways. And I’m still in love with the whole chivalry, slow-burn romance thing. Imagine my disappointment when the first civilian man I found inherently cute outright asked me if he could have some in the bathroom.” you pursed your lips, making Bucky crack a soft laugh.

“My ma would’ve had my head if I ever said that to a lady.” he replied smiling, his eye crinkling at the thought. “...is that why you said you find me incredibly attractive?” he found himself asking, surprising both of you.

Even underneath the stars, he could see the heat rising up your cheeks. “Oh, you remember that?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s not every day a girl would say that to the world’s deadliest assassin whose just been accused of a bombing incident.” he was mentally kicking himself for even opening up the topic.

“It’s Steve’s fault. He wouldn’t shut up about how charming and a gentleman you are. And it didn’t help that you’re annoyingly handsome.”

He shifted in his position. “Bet you’re disappointed now.” he said in a low voice.

“Not really.” you argued. “If anything, you’ve added the words hot and strong to the list.” you teased, poking him on the arm. He shook his head at how casual you were being.

“Sooner or later Buck, it won’t be just me crushing on you. Maybe you’d even find yourself falling for a civilian.” There was a hint of sadness behind your smiling eyes. Everybody in the kingdom knew of her allegedly having a crush on you, curtesy of Steve’s blabbering mouth, but this was the first time she actually admitted it.

He didn’t say it, but the thought of what you just said didn’t appeal to him. It felt almost wrong to imagine himself casually being open and carefree with someone else.

Carefree. This was what your conversation now felt like. You managed to somehow make him talk, far from his usual quiet and grunting self during daytime.

He opened his mouth trying to think if a reply when you cut him off.

“Don’t respond to that. You’ve already managed to make my drowsy self, confess having a crush on you.” he turned his head to look your way again, only to find that you now had your eyes closed, a small smile playing on your lips.

Letting you finally get some sleep; he turned his attention back to the sky.

And it's like the million little stars above him were spelling out your name.

Just then he wakes up from the dream, as the little whispers by the doorway caught his attention. Sam’s nephews were playing with the shield.

“Hey!” he raised his hand to greet them while still lying down on the couch.

“Put it back.” one of them said to the other. “Hurry, hurry.” and they both took off.

Alone once more, his thought went back to the dream of a memory he had with you.

He found himself smiling.

--------

Y/N: Thanks for all the love! We're one chapter away. I'm just waiting for the last episode (brb crying) to decided where we go from here.

@eternalharry @iheartsebandchris @lizzarooni @the-ayo-lit @tanyaherondale @eliwinchester-barnes @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @ebxny27 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @fadingdreamersportsmaker

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imaginegladions · 4 years

Text

One More Time, Like You Mean It

Xiao, Genshin Impact

A/N: Hehe, you guys haven’t heard from me in a while but surprise I am alive! And absolutely being devoured by work. I’ve been able to play a bit of Genshin in between to tide me over until I can play more Pokemon Games. But, I gotta say it’s pretty refreshing to write older characters. I hope you guys will forgive me for my fluctuating interests, have this... little gift from me. Not Gladion but he’s pretty damn similar.

The moment Xiao set foot on the bridge he heard them. The voices grew louder, screaming for salvation, for him to purge the evil. It was always loudest during the Lantern Rite but he had hoped with how well he had been doing recently he could risk it for a moment. Clearly, the years have made him complacent. He motioned to try and grab hold of his spear but instead found a hand tugging at his own. He followed the hand with his eyes until he caught sight of a shoulder and then deep blue eyes were staring into his own.

Right, he thought.

[You] invited him.

The person in question squeezed his hand once and started gently pulling him towards the myriad of stalls that had been set up. Some kids called [you] over from the corner, engaged in a game involving little multi-colored towers. [You] waved to them and posed for the shop owner next to them in time for the audible click of his camera.

“Doing alright?” [You] asked. And the Xiao one year prior would have sneered at that, not wanting [your] pity. But [you] only asked out of care for him and he’s come to appreciate [you] for that, for the charm that caused the lantern maker and grilled ticker fish seller to offer [you] freebies. For the charm that convinced the Vigilant Yaksha himself to cease his vigil if only for one night.

Xiao kept quiet as he took in all the festivities, not overwhelmed but also not quite comfortable with his surroundings.

Thankfully, [you] seemed to notice and quickened [your] pace until [you] reached a dock tucked away in the dark corners of the harbor with a single boat attached to it. Beside it sat a crate of fishing gear.

“My fishing boat.” [You] confessed, gesturing for him to sit across [you]. Inside the boat were a couple of cushions, a blanket, and a basket of assorted snacks.

Xiao scoffed. “You drag me to the city only to get away from it?” He raised a brow at [you] but got in anyway, unmoved even as [you] began to use [your] control over the water to gently push [you] out to sea, past several larger ships whose crewmen waved at [you].

“There’s that charm again.” Xiao thought, the notion clearing his mind of dark thoughts just enough for him to admire the way the Mingxiao Lantern loomed in front of [you].

[You] stopped the boat, leaning forward. And before Xiao could protest, [you] grabbed his hand again. He stared down at the offending appendages aghast. He doesn’t think he’s ever allowed anyone this close to him in the hundreds of years he’d been alive. The last he’d remembered were Bosacius’ shaking hands, Skybracer’s bloodstained shoulders, and all the friends he’d held as the light left their eyes.

“Xiao.”

[Your] palms, small and warm in his own, squeezed once. It was as Xiao lifted his head to meet [your] gaze that he realized [you] had been trying to get his attention. “What?” He hissed quietly.

But [you] only laughed breathlessly, nodding towards the direction of the harbor.

The entire city was dark, not a single person making even a whisper of a thought. Xiao was almost horrified at the sight. Was it possible that in the mere seconds he’d been caught up in his past, he’d been unable to protect the people of Liyue? Were they perhaps decimated in the blink of an eye?

The Skybracer made of bamboo and plauserite came to life, the fire within burning and revealing swirling patterns of gold against dashing blue. Behind it, fabric in luminescent azure and stark white fluttered in the evening breeze mimicking Skybracer’s full tail. And as if the spectacle hadn't surprised Xiao enough, the lantern began to move. Enchanted, he thought, as one by one the lantern’s limbs and neck began to shift and twist, the great deer shooting across the sky in wide arcs and in its wake the glow of thousands of lanterns carved out a path in the sky.

Xiao watched it happen with a wonder he thought he wasn’t capable of feeling anymore, only faintly aware of himself through his hands still linked with [yours]. It was so incredible, he’d almost giddily pulled [you] into his arms at the warm feeling rushing through him. The moment he hesitated, [you] had no qualms pulling Xiao in [yourself].

And as the glow of lanterns reflected in [your] eyes, he couldn’t deny how much he wanted to kiss [you].

Xiao held dominion over the wind, but never before had it been knocked so boldly out of him. He could scarcely believe it was caused by the mere realisation of his own feelings. [You] sat there, fireworks exploding in the sky as [you] stared at each other. For once, Xiao’s mind was clear of just about everything except the sound of [your] breaths, the curve of [your] lips, and [your] voice as [you] said his name.

Wait, his name?

“Beg your pardon?”

[Your] nose scrunched up in amusement and wow, Xiao doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as adorable. And Xiao has a soft spot for little ones, not that he’d ever admit it. “Right here, right now. Don’t you feel like you’re part of this?” [You] asked, cupping Xiao’s hands in both of [yours].

Xiao willed himself not to be distracted by the myriad of ways [you] liked to show [your] affection with [your] hands and tried to decipher [your] meaning to no avail. “What do you mean?”

“You said that not having a care in the world, being at peace, and feeling joy was not something you understood. But I feel your joy here,” [You] rested [your] fingertips gently at his collar where [you] could feel the flutter of his heartbeat, fast as a butterfly’s wings.

He was about to protest [your] warm hands leaving his when [you] continued. “I feel your peace here.” [You] said, hands grazing up his throat to cup his cheeks.

“And your care-” [You] smiled faintly, brushing [your] thumb over the tip of his nose. “Right here.”

Xiao clicked his tongue, lips drawing down into a slight frown at the teasing. His mood however was betrayed by the way his pulse grew ever quicker under [your] touch.

“As I have said, most mortal entertainment is fleeting, a short-lived spectacle.” He said in a tone notably softer than the growling timbre [you] were used to. He had declined, repeatedly, when [you] first asked him to join [you] for the festivities in a voice that struck fear into the hearts of heavenly and hellish creatures.

But Xiao the Vigilant Yaksha, [you] had discovered, who always donned his mask in a way even when he wasn’t exorcising demons was not the Xiao that sat in front of [you]. He was not in the Xiao that gently took [your] hands back in his, nor the Xiao that pulled the blankets up and wrapped them around [you]. He was not the Xiao that [you] dared to hope in the dead of night, when demons stole him away from [you], could possibly return [your] feelings.

[You] breathed in shakily, Xiao’s grip on [you] tightening at the sound. “Is this not?”

Xiao was somber, not unlike he was in the moments when his memories overcame him and he needed a minute to fight the darkness that clung to him like a second skin.

And in that serious tone of his, he spoke. “If you think that this relationship is something fleeting to me, then you are greatly mistaken.”

“You mean-” [You] choked at the words and the meaning behind them, startled.

“Will you-”

[You] didn’t let him finish, leaning all the way into his arms as [your] lips met, Xiao holding [you] so the boat wouldn’t tip over. [You] parted almost immediately, chaste and in awe of each other.

“Give me permission to court you?” He continued, a little breathless as [your] cheeks heated in embarrassment.

“O-Oh! I’m so sorry I misunderstood and I was too caught up in the ambiance and the way the moon and the lanterns lit up made you look so amazingly ethereal and unreal, I can’t believe you’re real and that you like me even though I-I make mistakes like think you want to kiss me-”

Xiao stared at [you] and his lips, the ones [you’d] kissed, curved into a smile brighter than any dawn [you’d] seen traversing Teyvat. The sheer joy and hope and affection in it infectiously warm. “You’re forgiven...” He murmured. As Xiao closed his eyes and rested his forehead against [yours], he whispered into the lantern filled night.

“Only if you’ll let me do it again.”

#xiao #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #reader insert #genshin impact imagines #xiao imagine #genshin impact imagine #he's just a baby #lantern rite imagine #lantern rite festival #and at last i seeee the liggggght #imagine xiaos #i am not promising more xiao stuff specifically #unless thats something u guys want and i feel like it

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments.

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you.

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his.

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing.

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride.

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly.

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow.

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook.

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right.

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away.

“I suppose you hate everything I love.”

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.”

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question.

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight.

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now.

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear.

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly.

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear.

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall.

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours.

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability.

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him.

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents.

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh.

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder.

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter.

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you.

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed.

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray.

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning.

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him.

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning.

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth.

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details.

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you.

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that.

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now.

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.”

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once.

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?”

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened.

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded.

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan.

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt.

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder.

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them.

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!”

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?”

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity.

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you.

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep.

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself.

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.”

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head.

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her.

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world.

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you.

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete.

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing.

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.”

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook.

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday.

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter.

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon.

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him.

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily.

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him.

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.”

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him.

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant.

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.”

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender.

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.”

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination.

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train.

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.”

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could.

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked.

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder.

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement.

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available.

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot.

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia.

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook.

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.”

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way.

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…”

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon.

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift.

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital.

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with.

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart.

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air.

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it.

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing.

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon.

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts writing #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #bts enemies to lovers #musician!jungkook #of honey and cinnamon #rubycoast

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